Follow the Unknown
by sunsetdreamer
Summary: There's a first time for almost everything; Booth and Brennan face each new situation in their usual roller-coaster fashion. A series of completed one-shots, to be updated when the mood strikes. Takes place in the same timeline as Underneath My Being.
1. The Panic in the Night

I'm trying something new; hopefully you like it. The idea is to write a series of "firsts" for Booth and Brennan... I'm guessing that they'll be in an established relationship for a lot of them, but there might be a couple where they haven't reached that point yet. Since each chapter will essentially be its own completed little one-shot, I'll run with this until I run out of ideas. Winging it is not usually my style, but I figured it would be okay as long as everything I post has a definitive beginning and end... that way I can't get shot for leaving anyone hanging. I've decided to keep this in the same timeline created in "Underneath my Being..." but you really don't have to read that first. It just lets me use the same baby name and maybe rope in other connecting 'facts' every once in a while. We shall see.

* * *

**Sidda sank down into the wide flannel embrace of their bodies, and she rested. For a moment she died a good little death, they died it together. And then her eyes began to fill with tears. She cried. At the beauty of what she had stumbled onto, at the fear that something terrible would happen because she was not vigilant enough. She cried at the fear of something so good that she would not be brave enough to bear it.**

_**Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood**__, Rebecca Wells_

Their first day home she's all smiles and confidence, and he looks at her and he gets that same feeling he does when he watches her take two hundred shattered pieces and turn them into a human skull. She's born to do this.

And then night falls and her confidence disappears with the sun. The baby has long since fallen asleep but Brennan has yet to put her down, and Booth wants to tell her to try and sleep while she can since the newborn will be awake and hungry in a matter of an hour or two, but he knows better than to tell her to do anything and he instead suggests that they take the baby to their bed and at least lie down. Brennan's too distracted by the bundle in her arms to be suspicious of his intentions and she only nods and follows him.

There's a full moon outside and light seeps into the room through the crack in the curtains and casts a quiet glow over the family in the king sized bed.

Ellie yawns. Booth and Brennan, propped up on an elbow on either side of her, smile. Booth is beyond tired at this point and he can't understand how Brennan is keeping her eyes open, but she's quiet and intense as she studies her progeny and memorizes every single feature. And then something changes.

Her body stiffens. She doesn't blink, she's still as stone, and Booth watches her eyes turn from blue to green as they fill with tears.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing." Brennan gives him a watery smile and then she rubs her irritated eyes and goes back to keeping a vigilant watch over Ellie. "I'm just tired."

"I don't doubt it. But that's not why you're crying."

"I feel like I'm going to burst," she admits lowly. "I know that scientifically, it is impossible, but I feel as if there is simply too much in my head and metaphoric heart to be stabilised. I feel as if it is beyond my control. And I cannot conclude whether it would be worse if these sensations remained or were suddenly absent."

Booth is quiet and Brennan backtracks, since she has no way of knowing that Booth's silence stems from the heart wrenching effects of her honesty coupled with his desire to say the right thing.

"I know; my thought process lacks rational sense. I'm sleep deprived and my hormones are out of balance… it is making me extremely emotional."

"No, baby. I mean, yeah, I know you're a little overwhelmed right now, but this is good, you know? It's okay to love her that much. It's okay to feel happy."

"This is the happiest I have ever been in my life," she stares at him with a seriousness generally reserved for work. "I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be _more _content, and therein lies the problem; since everything must change and my life cannot get better, I fear it will get worse. I fear losing this moment exactly as it stands."

"Hey," he reaches over to rest his hand on her hip, "don't think like that. It's going to be like this all the time. For the rest of our lives."

At this, Brennan chuckles genuinely, because to this day, she can't take Booth seriously when he says these things. "Okay, Booth."

"Alright, hardy har har, smartass."

"I'm sorry."

The apology is undermined by the unrepentant smile she can't keep contained and he rolls his eyes.

"Fine. Maybe you and I are gonna wake up tomorrow and hate each other. I'll move out of our place, you'll sever our partnership, we'll both live miserable lives for a year and then we'll die in tragic freak accidents on Christmas day."

She laughs again. "Why must you take everything to such ridiculous extremes?"

His hand travels from her hip to the bottom of her rib cage and back again. "There's no pleasing you."

"_You _are being dramatic to distract me," she says knowingly.

Booth concedes to this with a smile and continues trailing patterns up and down her side. "Look at her."

Brennan doesn't need convincing and her gaze drops between them. Immediately, her lips curl upward and she's lost. Who would have thought that it would take an infant to reduce Brennan's attention span to that of a puppy. She slides the pad of her index finger over a tiny palm, and her delicate smile – the one only _he _gets to see – stretches a little higher when the newborn's muscles twitch under the contact.

"Bones." He calls for her attention with a small laugh.

Brennan lifts her head and a slow flush joins her transcendent smile, but she doesn't remove her finger from her child's warm skin. "Pardon?"

"We create our own happiness. As long as we're both willing to work for it, we'll be okay."

"We are very hard workers," Brennan states.

"Damn straight."

"The first time that you told me you wanted to pursue a relationship with me, I said no," she speaks haltingly and watches his face. The topic isn't exactly taboo but it had been painful for both of them and she doesn't want to sully this moment by sending him back to a very deep hurt. But Booth merely watches her in return so she swallows and she stares into the peaceful face of their greatest creation, and she forges on. "I said no because I didn't believe I was capable of transforming myself into the person that I thought you needed."

The hand on her hip resumes its soothing journey up and down her side, and she feels Booth's gaze burning into her relentlessly until she meets his eye. There's no trace of animosity or sadness or blame, just that passionate darkening of his irises that tells her he damn well expects her to listen carefully to what he has to say. Then the look changes and she sees the exact moment he pulls back the words on the tip of his tongue.

"I remember."

They've talked about that night more than once, and he doesn't have anything to add that he hasn't told her before. So Booth fights the instinct to protect her heart at any cost, to immediately reassure her that she is and always has been more than enough, and he leaves her free to finish her thought without interjection.

"I feel... different, now," she frowns. "It is difficult to accurately describe. I _want _to transform myself. I want to be more. I want to be better. I want to be worthy of her love."

Booth smiles and leans forward, breathing in the distinct, clean smell of his daughter. He removes his free hand from Brennan's hip and claims Ellie's other palm as his own with a series of delicate movements that mirror his partner's.

"Any parent worth their salt wants to be the best they can be for their kids. You're strong enough to be anything, Bones. But you're already worthy. You're worthy of all the love in the universe."

His quiet declaration is full of unwavering certainty and it strikes her hard. She gets that tightening in her chest again and there's that fierce rush of _feeling _that started all of this in the first place. She wonders if Booth ever feels the way that she does now, and then she wonders how he bears the intensity of it all.

As she thinks, her eyelids grow heavy, but she catches herself as she begins to nod off and snaps back to attention. Back to Ellie. Because a very irrational part of her still fears this will all disappear the moment she is not tenaciously standing guard.

Booth smoothes strands of limp hair out of her face. "Sleep," he whispers.

"You too," she insists stubbornly, even though her eyes are already again drifting closed of their own accord.

"Me too," he agrees.

She brushes her lips against her daughter's soft forehead and lets her cheek hit the pillow, and she feels safe and exhausted and warm, but mostly she feels fulfilled. She's vaguely aware of the mattress shifting as Booth moves the baby to the portable crib beside the bed, and she thinks she tries to tell Booth to keep the baby between them and he maybe says something back about being unwilling to chance rolling on top of her, but it's all quite hazy. He slides into the bed again and she feels the familiar heat of his body against her back, and just before she drifts into a dreamless sleep, she hypothesizes that maybe part of being _better _entails relinquishing control and trusting that the world will always right itself. Eventually. Even if it takes years of abandonment and failed relationships and denial and heartache. Because in the lingering scent of her baby and the weight of Booth's arm, there is proof.


	2. The Guilt in the Shooting

This one is set a few months in the future from where we are now in season 6. Some really sick person suggested that (temporarily) putting Brennan in a wheelchair would take care of the whole 'hiding Emily's pregnancy' issue (okay okay, it was me. I'm that sick person) and while I was weighing the merit in that, this popped into my head.

* * *

**The Guilt in the Shooting**

The first time that Brennan isn't lucky enough to make out with a relatively minor flesh wound, she takes a bullet in the thigh and it just barely misses her femoral artery. In the end the damage is neither permanent nor life threatening – Booth hovers as she studies her own x-ray to confirm this – but the tissue damage is extensive and it will take more than a sling and some ibuprofen before she is fit to return to her normal routines.

Booth moves into her apartment without her permission. He puts a duffle bag full of clothes in her hall closet and he stays seated on her couch until she realises just how unmoveable he is going to be on the subject, and then she grudgingly offers him her spare room. He uses three of the vacation days he had planned on saving for a camping trip with Parker in the summer, and he's prepared to burn through all the ones he has left (plus his sick days), but by the end of that third day Brennan finally convinces him to return to work and his own apartment.

She had been grateful for his help at first (the drugs make her tired and lethargic), but in the past few days he has cooked for her, cleaned for her, done everything but _breathe _for her (because it is his method of keeping equal parts guilt and general anger from consuming him) and she has felt smothered. Restless. That first night without him is a relief, but then daylight comes and she expects him to continue hounding her with hourly phone calls and text messages, only she doesn't hear a word from him and it's _her_ that sends the first message when she discovers that she feels even more restless without him there to distract her.

_Do you require any assistance? I believe that I can still be useful from home._

He doesn't respond right away and there's no denying the twinge of disappointment she feels, but just as she once again immerses herself in the magazine Angela had dropped off, her phone chirps cheerfully beside her.

_Nah, I got it under control._

And that's it. No inquiry as to how she's feeling – not that she _wants _him to ask, but it's just how she expects him to behave and she still finds the unfamiliar unsettling – and no attempt to initiate further conversation. She stares at her phone intently and then responds quickly before she has a chance to change her mind.

_I feel fine, Booth. I would like to help._

She hates how desperate the message seems when she reads it back to herself. She hates that it has become so important to her to be important to him. But she accepts it. Because if there is anything she has learned this year, it is that the alternative is much worse. She has learned that it is maybe just as important that _Booth_ know he is needed by her, as she know it herself.

_Heading out now. Call you tonight, okay?_

She doesn't reply (because she recognizes rhetorical questions when faced with them now) and he doesn't call.

* * *

The first time that Brennan isn't lucky enough to make out with a relatively minor flesh wound, it's not because she's forgotten for the millionth time that the gun goes first. It's also not because he's distracted, and it's not even because he's given her an instruction that she's made the executive decision to ignore. It happens because when they find the young daughter of their murder victim locked in a basement, Brennan looks at him and silently communicates her desire to stay with the child while he secures the house, and he agrees. He gives her the pistol he keeps strapped to his ankle and he _agrees_, because it seems important to her and he forgets that what _she _thinks is important shouldn't matter in situations like these because _he _is the one who knows better. When the guns go off he's on the second floor and he races back and all he can see is the excessive quantity of blood covering the floor until Brennan's voice breaks his trance.

_It's not mine. It's not mine._

Their murderer/kidnapper is dead and his partner is alive and that should mean peace of mind for him, but when he thinks of the case all he sees is the blood, and he relives his instant _lack _of feeling (because his emotions had overloaded and shut down in the span of a microsecond), and his heart pounds. It's a simple matter of will to keep the images out of his head when she's only short steps away from him, but last night he hadn't slept. After waking up drenched in sweat for the second time, he had showered and dressed for work and then parked outside her building until the sun had come up.

When he reaches his office, he has literal stacks of paperwork adorning his desk that all require at least a signature, and he sighs before sitting in his chair and sorting methodically through the files. By lunchtime he's made a significant dent in the backlog, but then another file slides forward and he frowns when he reads the sticky note plastered to the front of it. The messy scrawl belongs to Hacker and the file contains all their paperwork for this recent case, and then Booth is again back in that basement staring at all the blood and _hating _himself for leaving Brennan alone. For forcing her to shoulder the burden of killing yet another human being. When Brennan texts him, he's in the middle of reworking the highlighted sections of the case work, and his reaction to her message is immediate: no. No, he does not need her anywhere near this.

He's a little abrupt with her and he lies about having somewhere else to be, and he feels a little guilty, but he just needs some space to pull himself back together. To lock that undirected anger at his own stupidity back in a box and nail the lid shut. Hours later he's just about there, and that's when his phone rings.

It's Brennan. Of course it is. He sighs, but he does so with traces of a smile because he's almost always happy to hear her voice. Even now, when thinking about her just about breaks his heart.

"Hey Bones."

"Hi Booth."

There's silence over the line and Booth breathes and reminds himself of the important things. She's alive. She's injured, but she's acting like herself and her pain is manageable and she's _alive_.

And then there's a heart stopping crash in her apartment. He jumps out of his chair.

"It's okay! I'm okay!"

Her voice yells into his ear and it's only then that he realizes he's already halfway across the room with his keys and jacket in hand. His panic swiftly gives way to anger. Because that is the natural transition for a person who has someone they care about scare the shit out of them for no good reason.

His voice is slightly raspy because his heart is still pounding and he hasn't quite caught his breath. "What the hell was that?"

"I am sitting at my kitchen island and my crutches fell away from the counter," she explains. "I wasn't using them."

Booth swallows and perches himself on the edge of his desk instead of returning to his chair. He's a little too keyed up now to commit fully to a seated position. "Just be careful, alright, Bones? Jeez, you're going to give me a heart attack."

He expects her to jump in with a long winded explanation as to why such a thing is outside the realm of probability, but she doesn't. She's quiet as she chooses her next words with infinite care, and Booth reprimands himself for letting them fall to this place where she still sometimes feels she has to censor herself before him. They have been good, lately. Better than good. But this reminds him that they still haven't fully reassembled all of their shattered pieces. If anyone had told him two years ago that their relationship would become this screwed up, he would have laughed in their face.

"A penny for your thoughts," he prompts softly.

"A penny is hardly sufficient incentive."

He chuckles. "Alright, Miss Self-made Millionaire. What would _you _consider sufficient incentive?"

She pauses as she considers this. "I find that, quite often, I do not require incentive where you are concerned." She has no way of knowing how much this statement warms his heart, and she quickly continues on to what she considers to be more important things. "You said you were going to call. You never did."

He winces. "I was going to, Bones. You just got me first."

"It's nearly seven o'clock in the evening, Booth."

"What?" He looks at his watch and reads the numbers with a small degree of shock. "So it is. Sorry about that, Bones. I guess I lost track of time."

"Do you have plans for this evening?" she asks without preamble.

"Plans? No. No plans."

"In that case, would you like to come over for dinner?"

He scratches his head. "Didn't you kick me out of your apartment less than twenty four hours ago?"

"That is a rather dramatic way of putting it, Booth."

"It's an accurate way of putting it, Bones."

"Is that why you're avoiding me?" she questions cautiously. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

"No, partner. You didn't hurt my feelings," he gives a self-depreciating laugh. "I just... I..." his voice trails off and then he sighs as he decides to go for total honesty. "I just really hate it when you get hurt, you know?"

"I know," she replies softly, "I am familiar with the feeling."

They settle into pensive silence and when the weight of his thoughts becomes oppressive, Booth clears his throat and adjusts the phone tucked against his shoulder. "So, what are you making tonight?"

"Macaroni and Cheese," she says hesitantly.

"My favourite."

"Yes." Another pause, and then her voice gains confidence and picks up speed. "It could be quite a hazardous endeavour when one considers the added hindrance of my crutches... I could easily fall, or burn myself, or cut myself, or-

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a bully?" he interrupts with a smile. The total lack of subtlety in her attempt at arm-twisting makes it all the more entertaining, and there is no doubt in his mind that he will be joining her for dinner. Time and space be damned.

"You tell me that all the time."

"And that doesn't make you think that you should maybe reconsider your methods of getting people to bend to your will?"

"Why would I do that when thus far my methods have proven to be consistently successful?"

He rolls his eyes. "Alright, I'll see you soon. Don't start without me; I don't want you killing yourself on this hazardous endeavour of yours."

"Okay."

"Hey Bones?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you called."

Another second of silence.

"I will see you soon." Her response is simple, but he can hear the smile in her voice. "I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

"No! I can use my key, Bones, don't-

But she has already hung up and Booth is left lecturing a disconnected line. He gives an annoyed exhalation and then tosses his phone on the desk before retaking his seat. He hasn't quite shaken his brooding mood yet, but he flies through the few remaining files and quickly prepares to leave regardless, because he has a partner waiting for him who doesn't believe in locking doors or relying on others when trying to balance pots of boiling water with only one good leg.

He trusts that his mood will improve by the time he sees her face, and with a bit of luck, tomorrow will be a little less painful than today. Because as he envisions them working side by side in her kitchen, he thinks that maybe Mac and Cheese can restore his faith in himself and what they do faster than tossing and turning and beating himself up as he waits for tomorrow's sun.

* * *

_These will not all be melodramatic. The next one will be ridiculous. Like, ridiculous, lol. I was in a comedic mood. Sometimes I like to think I'm funny. _


	3. The Cheating in the Technicality

This one is early relationship, and not at all even a little bit serious. The review reply function still isn't working, so know that I'm not being intentionally rude by just stopping all responses all of a sudden in my last few updates. It's all ff net's doing.

* * *

**The Cheating in the Technicality**

The first – and only – time that Booth kissed Angela, _really _kissed her, Brennan was to blame. Booth would remain adamant about this. Brennan, of course, aggressively denied any accountability and always went on to point out that kissing someone while in a committed relationship with someone else was considered – by his own definition – cheating (and he was therefore, in fact, a cheater). Booth, in turn, was always quick to point out that it was precisely _that_ type of instigative behaviour that had brought the debacle to pass in the first place.

* * *

"Am I keeping you from something?" Angela asked bemusedly.

Brennan looked up from the bright screen of her cell phone and tried to look very interested. "Of course not; we are having girl time, which you have outlined in the past as both necessary and 'fun,' and I quite enjoy your company."

The statement was mostly true. Spring was coming and Angela had spent the majority of the winter months cooped up inside with a baby, and Brennan had genuinely missed the time she was accustomed to spending with her friend outside of work. But Angela was in one of her pushy moods this evening, and Brennan was finding the effort it took to dance around her questions and innuendo absolutely exhausting.

"What about him?" Angela gave her a conspiratorial nudge. "He's pretty cute."

Brennan sighed and sipped her wine. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Oh come on, Bren. I spend my free time getting thrown up on nowadays; _one _of us has to have some kind of excitement in life and since it's not going to be me, that leaves you."

Brennan made the mistake of following Angela's eyes to the man across the bar, and in one brief moment of eye contact, he felt sufficiently encouraged to approach them. She resisted the urge to sigh again and instead took another drink from her glass.

In one smooth perusal of both females, the man catalogued Angela's wedding ring and focused the majority of his attention on Brennan. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I already have a drink," she replied bluntly, ignoring the slight stinging in her arm as Angela pinched her.

"Oh. I just thought-

"I can understand your misinterpretation of our shared eye contact, but in reality I glanced in your direction to satiate a mild curiosity, that's all."

Beside her, it was Angela's turn to sigh, and after further seconds of painfully awkward conversation – painful for Angela and the would-be suitor, that is – he made a run for the hills.

Brennan feigned total innocence when Angela raised her eyebrow accusingly. "What?"

"Don't you 'what' me. What was that all about? The Brennan I know and love would have jumped on that train once upon a time."

"Yes, well, people change. You, for instance, used to be much better at reading my body language and determining the point of our conversations in which I became genuinely irritated with you."

"I'm just saying, Bren, this celibacy kick of yours? It's getting way out of hand. When was the last time you had sex?"

_This morning_. The answer came immediately to mind, but thankfully, Brennan (sometimes) chose to run things through a mental filter before speaking nowadays and she stopped the truthful answer from automatically popping out. Just barely.

"Some time ago," she admitted into her glass. She had hoped the answer would be casual enough for easy acceptance, but she should have known better. Angela's sex-radar was as accurate as Booth's criminal one. Angela froze with her vodka-cranberry halfway to her lips and Brennan did her best not to squirm.

"You're seeing someone."

"What? Why would you- no."

"Yes," Angela laughed. What had been a mild suspicion soon solidified itself as fact in Angela's mind as Brennan's cheeks began to fill with colour. "You've been holding out on me. That's cruel, sweetie."

"Angela-

"How long has this been going on?"

"There is nothing-

"I can't _believe _I didn't pick up on this. I'm losing my touch."

"I'm serious-

"Give me _something_-

"Angela, stop!"

Brennan was too flustered by this point to remember that the only way to possibly counter Angela when she behaved this way was to meet her teasing with indifference. Jumpiness and noticeable discomfort – that is to say, acting like _Booth _– were guaranteed to prolong the harassment indefinitely. Angela wasn't going to let this go. Ever. Brennan stared longingly at the front door and briefly allowed herself to fantasize about running through it, far away from this interrogation.

* * *

"You _like _him."

"No I don't."

"You _really _like him."

"No I _don't_!"

The flush in Brennan's face deepened as she felt herself swiftly devolving in this childish exchange and playing directly into Angela's impish hands.

Angela grinned. "You're going to get married and have a little mini-you that will be best friends with my mini-me, and-

"Excuse me-

The new (male) voice came from just behind Brennan at about the same time as the tap to her shoulder, and without hesitation Brennan turned around, grasped his collar, and kissed the fellow patron soundly on the mouth. Angela laughed delightedly at the impulsiveness of it all, and Brennan released her unsuspecting victim once she felt she had sufficiently proved her point. Feeling as if she had regained some of her footing in the battle against her best friend, Brennan's air of confidence reappeared and she turned casually back toward Angela and sipped her wine.

"As I said; it's nothing."

Angela raised her glass in silent salute. That round undoubtedly went to Brennan.

The man Brennan had chosen to make an example of quickly recovered and scampered off to borrow ketchup from a different table. Because the women at the bar were clearly insane.

Angela's laughter was infectious and Brennan soon found herself cracking a smile. All the tension disappeared and she was once again happy to be there, spending time with her best friend. When she felt another tap on her shoulder she was still smiling as she turned around, but this time, she knew the person standing behind her. Uh oh.

"Hi Booth."

"Hi Bones. Angela." Booth's eyes flickered over to acknowledge Angela's presence and then returned to Brennan. "Can I talk to you a sec?"

* * *

"It's Angela's fault."

"Let's just go outside for a minute, okay?"

He was walking toward the doors and while part of her recognized that this was a dangerous conversation for them to have with Angela only half a room away, while part of her _knew _Booth wouldn't want to do this in public, she couldn't keep herself from talking.

"Are you mad?"

Booth laughed humourlessly, but didn't break his stride. "Yeah, Bones. You could say I'm a little mad."

"You don't have any reason to be."

At this, he stopped and turned to face her. "No reason to- I walk in here and find my _girlfriend _making out with some guy, and you don't think I have a reason to be upset? What is _wrong _with you?"

It looked bad, that she knew. Still, the words stung. So she went on the offensive. Because she still couldn't always curb the urge to do so when she felt slighted. "There is nothing wrong with me. You can be so stupid."

Booth's eyes flashed and Brennan gave herself a mental kick. She had begun with sole intent to convincingly reassure him that the kiss had been an impulsive act of frustration in response to half an hour of harassment from Angela, and now she was provoking him. He just brought out the worst in her sometimes.

His jaw was clenched, and after grinding his teeth a few times he found the strength to pry it open. "I'm going home," he said definitively. "I can't talk to you right now."

"Booth, wait."

She grabbed his arm and he shook her off, resisting the instinct to give in to her when her eyes looked as clear and emotive as they did now. She _should _be panicking. Because he was absolutely justified in being a little annoyed right now.

Despite his intentions of leaving before the two of them could get into yet another public yelling match, he opened his mouth to really let her have it. Because sometimes, she just brought out the worst in him too.

"Listen, I don't know what you're thinking right now, but it isn't okay for you to just-

"Hey, let's play nice, okay?" Angela appeared out of nowhere and raised an eyebrow in warning.

Booth sighed. "Angela, just give us a minute."

Instead, Angela folded her arms and tilted her hip. He rolled his eyes; having a baby had increased her protective instincts tenfold.

Brennan didn't take her eyes away from his. "Booth, you shouldn't be upset." The sentence was worded carefully, accounting for Angela's presence.

Booth sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Her expression was earnest, and he knew that there had to be some ass backward explanation for this that only Bones could possibly find logical. But just when he was thinking he could maybe manage to calm down and hear her out, he remembered that she had called him stupid.

"Why should I not be upset, Bones?"

She had seen his irritation vanish for a split second, and its inexplicable reappearance threw her off. "Because it didn't mean anything!"

And just like that, they both forgot all about Angela and found themselves in the middle of their own little fight zone.

"What do you mean it didn't mean anything? All kisses mean _something_. Otherwise what's the point?"

"Exactly!"

"What?"

"It was to make a point! That's all!'

"You don't just go around kissing people to make points!"

"There were extenuating circumstances!"

"What, was someone's life in danger or something?"

"Don't be absurd."

"Oh, so now I'm absurd."

"Yes!...No! You're being very frustrating."

"Because you're going around kissing strangers!"

"_Stranger_! There was only one, Booth. And these overreactions of yours-

"Like you'd be so calm and rational if you saw me kissing some girl."

"I _would_ be calm and rational! I would assume that, as you are not a cheater, a reasonable explanation would follow!" She paused as she considered this, and then her own eyes flashed. "Do you think _I _would be unfaithful? Is that why you are behaving this way?"

Angela gasped and shifted her gaze rapidly between the two of them. Not that they noticed.

Booth ignored the accusation – because it was too ridiculous to be addressed – and scoffed. "Even _you_ aren't that practical. I'm not overreacting."

"Yes you are! I would _never_-

"Oh really?"

"Yes! Really!"

Booth snapped. Years from now, he _still _wouldn't be able to explain what prompted it, but in a series of rapid movements, he took hold of Angela's arm, pulled her against him and kissed her. Hard. Angela released a muffled squeak, but Booth was pushing her away again and staring defiantly at Brennan before she could gather her bearings. Around them the bar pulsated with energy and noise, but the only thing Booth could hear was the sound of the blood rushing through his ears.

"Wow," Angela muttered, raising a hand absently to her bottom lip, "that was really good for no tongue."

Again, neither one of them heard her. Brennan's jaw looked like it was about to drop right off her face, and Booth's angry adrenaline had left him breathing heavily. Angela was accustomed to watching them continue their back and forth until a third party intervened; watching them successfully shock _themselves _into silence was something new and interesting.

A slow flush began to build in Booth's face as his infuriated haze cleared.

Holy shit. He had just kissed Angela.

He took a step toward Brennan and then promptly stepped back, suddenly doubting the intelligence of putting himself within a fist's reach of her. He felt his face growing more heated, and when Angela recovered first and began to laugh, he did the only think he could think to do.

"We'lltalklater," he mumbled into the ground as he made a break for the door.

Brennan's mouth didn't close until the bar door was swinging shut behind him, and then she turned to Angela with an odd facial expression that told the artist she had no idea where to begin processing what had just happened.

"Something you want to tell me, Sweetie?" Angela chuckled.

This pulled Brennan out of her stunned stand-still and she shot Angela a glare before snatching her coat up from the bar and stomping toward the exit without a word.

"You two sort it out amongst yourselves!" Angela called after her. "I'll just be sitting here. Waiting. Alone." A nearby man seized what he believed to be an opportunity and sidled up to her. Angela flashed her wedding ring dismissively. "Not a chance, buddy."


	4. The Failure in the Supervision

This fairly lighthearted piece features an established B&B, post-Ellie.

* * *

**The Failure in the Supervision**

_What it all comes down to my friends,  
is that everything is just fine fine fine.  
'Cause I've got one hand in my pocket,  
and the other one is hailing a taxicab…_

_**Hand in My Pocket, **__Alanis Morissette_

Booth had been on the phone for close to fifteen minutes now with a fellow agent, reviewing the itinerary for the field training day scheduled a week from tomorrow. Every once in a while he guiltily glanced up from the papers on his desk to look at the little girl fenced securely in her pen a little ways from him. While he had been letting his daughter roam his office freely for the better part of the day, he couldn't watch her properly while he was on the phone. Hence, the baby prison.

Ellie's slight fever that morning had disrupted their daily routine by making daycare an impossibility. Bones had been reluctant to let him take their daughter with him to work – something he had found mildly offensive considering the amount of time Ellie spent at the lab, but whatever – but his partner's time had been booked solid for the day and since he really didn't have anything pressing scheduled, she hadn't had any choice but to agree.

He tucked his desk phone between his chin and shoulder and scribbled a notation on the legal pad in front of him with one hand, while he opened drawers in search of his stapler with the other.

"Uh huh," he absently murmured his agreement with the voice on the other end of the line, and then a steady stream of babbling – interspersed with actual words – from the corner of his office caused him to forget both the stapler and his conversation alike. He grinned at his daughter and she laughed, and he tried to ignore the way his heart clenched every time she said _daddy _in order to focus on this semi-important discussion.

He was _just _wrapping up the call when he made another habitual glance toward the fancy portable pen and found it noticeably lacking a certain eighteen-month-old girl.

_What the hell?_

He sat up straight in his chair. The door was closed, so that was a good sign (although he was pretty sure he was the only person on this floor with a baby here today, so _someone _would have returned her if she made it out). Before he could stand and begin searching under bookshelves and behind filing cabinets, Booth felt the pressure of a tiny hand halfway up his calf, and he looked down in relief at the face smiling up at him. And everything was A-OK until Ellie took a half step forward, tripped over his shoe, and flew face first into the corner of his desk.

The howling began immediately (in all likelihood, equal parts shock and pain) and Booth cursed under his breath as he pulled her up from the floor.

"Shit. Oh no. Sam, I'm gonna have to call you back."

He slammed the phone into its cradle without waiting for a response and turned her toward him in his lap. "Elle, baby I'm sorry. Let me see."

But Ellie was not in the mood to be consoled. Between her screaming for her mother and burying her face in his shirt, he was getting nowhere pretty darn fast. When he realised that she had broken the skin on her forehead and a welt was already forming, he sighed, stood up, and made quick work of wrestling the incompliant toddler into her coat.

"Okay, kiddo, no mommy until we get this all sorted out, okay? She's not going to be happy about this. Daddy is in big trouble."

* * *

"Cam."

Cam looked up from the body on her table – partially stunned, but much more so amused – as Booth came running into the room with his daughter in his arms. Ellie had her tiny fists clenched in his shirt as she held on for dear life, and Cam was about to laugh (because there were only a handful of things in life as funny to her as Booth in his maniacal panic modes) when she caught sight of the bright splotch on Ellie's forehead. She frowned as she snapped off her gloves and met him halfway.

"What the hell happened?"

Booth skidded to a halt. "Where's Bones?"

"You just missed her. She went to-

"Fantastic. Okay, listen; I need you to fix this."

Ellie sat up a little straighter in his arms and pointed behind Cam. "Icky."

Booth followed her finger to the corpse resting on the metal table and sighed. "Great; now she's injured _and _traumatized. Bones is going to kill me."

Cam made a brief effort to draw her own conclusions, but it had been a long day so far and she gave up fairly quickly. "Explain."

"She had a bit of a fever this morning, so Bones kept her out of daycare. I'm working out of my office all day today and so I took her in with me and she smacked her head off my desk while I was on the phone."

She raised an eyebrow. "Way to keep an eye on her, Seeley."

Booth shifted his weight agitatedly from foot to foot and ran his free hand through his hair. "She unlocked the gate door, Camille! From the inside! She's fucking Houdini, alright? I screwed up, you lectured me, let's get to the part where you make sure she doesn't have brain damage, okay?"

Cam shook her head and reached out to take the young Booth, but at the last second he gripped Ellie protectively and pulled away.

"What now?" Agitation was beginning to creep into her tone as well, and pretty soon things between the two of them were going to get downright snippy.

"Shouldn't you wash your hands or something first?"

Cam took a deep breath. "Booth, give her to me now, or fix this yourself."

Booth glowered, but he obediently shifted the little girl toward his friend. Ellie willingly held out her arms to the familiar face and balanced herself with a hand against Cam's chest as Cam settled her on her hip.

"It doesn't look too bad," Cam assessed as she set Ellie on a countertop. "She's not bleeding anymore, that's good."

"She all but hollered down the building at the time, not that you'd know that by looking at her now. She's got Bones' lungs."

Ellie whimpered and pushed away Cam's hand as the doctor pressed lightly on the raised spot.

"Alright, you don't like that. I got it," Cam said evenly. Then she turned back to Booth. "A little disinfectant and a Band-Aid and she'll be good as new."

Booth rolled his eyes. "That's it? Four years of med school and you're giving me disinfectant and a Band-Aid?"

Cam finally grew exasperated. "What were you expecting? I'm busy, Booth; kids fall down, they bump their heads. You already have a son; this can't be the first time something like this has happened."

"Yeah, _I _have a son. This is the first time that something like this has happened to Ellie. She's Bones' first child and Bones is going to freak out when she sees a lump the size of Texas adorning her only child's forehead. So, no, Cam, slapping a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on her really isn't going to help me."

Cam shrugged and turned back toward the one and a half year old. Ellie instinctively began squirming away from her when she brought a Q-tip soaked in disinfectant near her face.

"What do you want me to do, glue the skin back together? Cover her in foundation?"

Booth raised his eyebrows and absently lifted his daughter from the counter as she began to cry again, never taking his eyes off Cam. "Are those real options?"

Cam sighed loudly, "No! They're not! I may not know Brennan as intimately as you do, but I am one hundred percent sure that putting makeup on her _baby _is going to piss her off a hell of a lot more than a little scratch and some mild swelling."

Under the gentle sway of Booth's embrace, Ellie began to settle, but the memory of Cam's hands and the disinfectant were still fresh. When Cam reached toward her with the tiny piece of stitching tape, she buried her face in her father's chest.

Booth jiggled her lightly. "Come on, pretty girl; cooperate with Cam. Daddy's in enough trouble as it is."

"No."

His phone beeped in his pocket and he handed a resistant Ellie over to Cam, despite the little girl's protests. He groaned at the message from his partner asking why he (read, Ellie) wasn't in his office, and he knew that his time before she returned to the lab was short.

Cam successfully distracted Ellie with a weighty silver pen and stuck the piece of tape firmly in place; Ellie glared at her accusingly, but she didn't cry.

"Alright, new plan. You keep her and tell Bones I got called into the field."

"What part of 'I'm busy' did you not understand? Ellie's beautiful and I love her, but I am not falling even further behind in my day than I already am just because you're afraid of your girlfriend. Take your baby and deal with this like the big boy I know you can be."

Cam held Ellie out to him and Booth took a step back. "No. She's already stressed out right now because _you _are making her give some lecture on Tuesday, so as far as I'm concerned, you owe me. This is the least you can do."

"Exactly. I'm making her give the lecture, and I don't want to deal with more attitude than I'm already getting by becoming involved in this. You're the father of her child, Booth; she can't stay mad at you forever. Good luck."

She shifted his daughter toward him once more and Booth hesitated, but he sighed in defeat when Ellie reached for him expectantly.

"Fine," he grumbled, taking possession of his offspring. "Tell Cam, 'thanks for nothing,' Ellie."

Ellie stared at him blankly and then performed her latest trick of blowing kisses instead. Cam laughed and kissed the baby's soft cheek in return while Booth observed begrudgingly.

"You are absolutely no good to me, kid."


End file.
